by Conti, Gene;
“MRSA, big time,” Matt states.
“For those of you who are not familiar, MRSA stands for Methicillin Resistant Staph Aureus. This bacterium is resistant to the antibiotic methicillin,” as I barge in.
“So, Matt, what is the genus for this bacteria?” Fred queried Matt again.
Matt was looking around unsure of how to answer.
Maria, our nursing major, replied. “The genus is Staphylococcus, Mister Fred.”
“Now, I’m Mister Fred,” he answered, rolling his eyes while the class laughed again. “You are correct. That’s the long form of the name. Sometimes we shorten it to just staph.”
“And the species name?” Fred asked, looking at Maria for the remainder of the answer.
“Aureus,” she replied politely as usual.
Looking over toward Matt, Fred asked, “Okay, Mister Matt.” There were some chuckles. “The genus and species is Staphylococcus or Staph Aureus. What has it evolved into?”
“Huh?” Matt’s forehead furrowed and he looked quizzically at Fred.
“Well, Matt, you said that the bacteria, in response to antibiotics, Methicillin in this case, has mutated and evolved. What has it evolved to? Its genus and species have not changed. It hasn’t mutated into a different species of bacteria, let alone some other higher organism. Variation and adaptability, yes, but evolution?” With that Fred held his hands palms up and lifted his eyebrows, waiting for a rebuttal from Matt.
Matt just sat there dumbfounded. Several other students were scratching their heads.
Maria turned to Matt. “We’re back to a loss of information again.”
Philip asked Maria, “What about plasmids in bacteria that exchange DNA information as a means to develop antibiotic resistance?”
Before Maria had a chance to respond, Philip caught himself. “Oops, my bad,” leaving several students wondering what happened.
Fred looked at Maria, “Better explain what that Asian gentleman said.”
“Plasmids exchange DNA information, which already exists. There is no new DNA information created. Evolution claims, as Doc said, to move upward and onward creating more and new different information. A horse has more info (DNA) for eyes, lungs, heart, etcetera than an amoeba. Where is this evidence that evolution creates new information?”
I glanced toward Maggie who was listening very intently. She was nodding her head, as were the others—they got it.
“Thank you, young lady,” Fred addressed Maria. “You must be majoring in one of the life sciences?”
“Maria is a nursing student,” I told Fred.
“And a very intelligent one, at that,” Fred added, complementing her.
“Just to put the final nail in the coffin on the idea of mutating bacteria ‘proving’ evolution, I’ll tell you this story,” Fred stated, as I stood to stretch my legs.
“A number of years ago, they found the frozen bodies of some explorers who died around 1850. Their bodies were discovered north of Canada around the Arctic Circle. They were trying to find the Northwest Passage.”
“How disgusting,” Claudia chimed in, as I note a slight sallow color change.
“The point is,” Fred continued, “that autopsies in 1988 showed some of the bacterial strains found in their gut were already resistant to powerful modern antibiotics such as cefoxitin and clindamycin.”
The class was silent, not exactly sure what to say. Finally, Maria turned to the group and asked them, “When was even basic penicillin first used in any quantities?”
Jim was the one to finally speak. “Guess I’ll need another V-8. These guys died almost a hundred years before penicillin was even discovered, and then used during World War II in large amounts. And these strains of bacteria in the gut of the explorers’ dead, frozen, bloated bodies were already resistant to modern sophisticated antibiotics!”
I noticed Jim momentarily shift his eyes toward Claudia as he was stating this, aware of her delicate sensibilities. She was turning a putrid shade of green.
“Absolutely correct,” Fred remarked looking at Jim and glancing at queasy Claudia. “Again, no true evolution, no new information has taken place—just variation or modification on what already existed.”
Suddenly I realized what was different about Maggie. She had toned down the war paint.
CHAPTER FORTY
BOMBARDIER BEETLE
I walked on the grass to the edge of the rosé colored paving stones that covered the quadrangle. I could still hear Fred, as he was only about thirty feet from me. I could also see the marble statue of Mary somewhat down a ways on my left at the edge of the quadrangle. But something was going on, in the center, around the flagpole. Someone was setting up some speakers on extension poles with tripod bases. The small circular wall, which enclosed the garden at the base of the flagpole, was considered to be a free speech zone. On occasion there were placards or signs. One could frequently find students gathered there with someone standing on the wall, using it as their soapbox to present their discourse on whatever topic suited them. This led to lively and, at times, volatile exchanges. But this was definitely different; more of a professional style setup.
I walked along the edge of the quadrangle, passing the statue of Mary until I could see one of the student parking lots through the trees on my left. There was a large van with the logo of one of the big three local affiliate networks on it, complete with satellite dish and antennas. Something was up.
These guys were from Harrisonburg, about sixty miles down I-81 from Front Royal. The Harrisonburg market encompassed us on their northern periphery. Father called them the Atheist, Communist, and Numbnuts Broadcasting Corporations.
What are they doing here today? I thought. I noticed Fred was approaching me.
“Hey man, you guys finished up?” I asked Fred, as we continued to walk along the quadrangle’s perimeter.
“Yeah, and you’ve got some very sharp cookies in your class. They are really thinking things through, Doc. I see that you already covered irreducible complexity with the mousetrap - they were all over that.”
“Anything new I should know about that you already went over with them?” I asked.
“We covered the bombardier beetle, the woodpecker, and the giraffe,” Fred explained. “They were laughing like hyenas over the bombardier beetle.”
“I was wondering what was going on with you guys. I could hear the group breaking up all the way from here.”
“Well, when challenged to describe how an insect with two ‘tanks’ filled with explosive gases and twin synchronous rotating machine guns could evolve slowly over eons of time without blowing itself up each step of the way, they just couldn’t contain themselves.”
“That student of yours, Jim, the V-8 guy.” Fred began.
“Yes?” I asked, wondering what antics Jim had been up to.
“He kept looking around for Mrs. Bombardier beetle to see if she hadn’t blown herself up yet, so they could mate.”
“Yes, that’s Jim alright,” I said lightly shaking my head.
“Oh, and that leggy brunette who was sitting in front of me?”
“Yes, Claudia,” I answered in a half apologetic tone.
“She asked me what my wife does.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Oh, I coolly mentioned that she likes to file her nails down to a point. She must have bounced back a foot and then jumped up looking around, even up into the trees.”
“What?” I stated somewhat confused.
“I guess she was half expecting Cindy to swing down like Tarzan—or should I say like Jane—and scratch her eyes out. She then took off like a shot.”
Both of us laughed, picturing Claudia running in her high heels down the path like a mad woman. Fred pointed to the TV truck in the parking lot. “What gives?” “I was about to ask you the same question.” “Well, look who’s getting out of the van,” Fred remarked sarcastically.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
COVER GIRL
&nb
sp; “It’s the B-witched lady herself, Kathy Owens,” Fred stated with marked cynicism in his voice.
“Yes, I recognize her,” I noted. “She’s the anchorette on the six o’clock news from Harrisonburg. She thinks she’s hot stuff.”
Fred sneered slightly and shook his head. “Megyn Kelly, she ain’t. She doesn’t have the personality, nor the knowledge, nor the class Kelly has.”
“I get the impression she has designs to move up the news ladder to Washington where the big bucks are. The Harrisonburg market is just too common and plebian for her tastes. We are the unwashed masses to her.”
“The only thing Kathy and Megyn have in common is that they are both blondes,” added Fred. “Do you know she wears five or six-inch heels to make herself look taller? Kathy’s only about five one.”
“I didn’t realize that,” I admitted with a slight downturn of my lips, indicating I couldn’t care less. “By the way, what did you call her—B-witched?”
“Oh,” Fred chuckled, “Cindy and I use that term, especially when the kids are around. We don’t want them to pick up any bad language and then use it with their friends.”
“I see now,” I laughed. “Substitute the W for the B, got it.”
I pointed. “Check it out Fred - she’s got two cameramen with her. Someone has orchestrated something for the free speech zone and has clued Kathy Owens in on it—for the big scoop!”
“Oh yeah,” said Fred, “a Pulitzer would be a big feather in her hat, and launch her to journalistic stardom.”
“And the megabucks that go along with it,” I concluded.
We both noticed three very large charter buses pulling into the student parking lot at the back end, as if to stay out of camera range. They were fully packed with people.
“Those are definitely not ICC buses. Someone is attempting to rig this spectacle in their favor,” Fred observed. “Look over there, Doc. Coming this way, from the Student Union building. It’s Erik Meisner and a bunch of his SS wannabes.”
“Erik is the lieutenant and muscle for—”
“Let me guess,” I quickly interjected. “Professor Dietrich?”
“I knew I smelled a rat,” Fred replied, really sneering now. “Dietrich and Owens … it figures - two really bad apples.”
Erik appeared to be of above average height with an athletic build. He had sandy blonde hair trimmed in a semi-military or athletic style: close with a tapered cut on the sides and gelled on the top. I later discovered that he had piercing blue eyes. Erik, as well as his crew, all had on their “uniform”: khaki pants, sky blue collared button-down shirts, and black Corfam boots.
“Fred, what’s with the wooden nightstick dangling in the holster off his belt?”
“That’s his calling card, Doc. The guy is a real throwback to the Nazi storm troopers. And I’ve seen him use it - even on his own men.”
“They also call themselves the Blueshirts.” Fred reflected, “I wonder if they are aware that Hitler had his Brownshirts and Mussolini his Blackshirts.”
We both take note that Erik bossed around the cameramen and others on the TV crew. As her high heels clicked a mile a minute, like a secretary at an old metal typewriter, Kathy flew over and got right in Erik’s face.
“Look Blue Boy, these are my men, and they take orders from me, and me only. You stick to being a tin soldier with the other little Blue Boys, got it!?” she screeched, pointing her index finger almost up Erik’s nose.
Erik just stood there and took it. His face was red as a beet, his jaw was clenched, and I just about saw steam coming from his ears.
“Man, I’ve never seen Erik like this before,” Fred stated half serious and half laughing at seeing the sight. “He doesn’t even realize that Kathy is ridiculing him, by using the reference to Gainsborough’s famous painting, The Blue Boy.”
“Oh yeah,” I replied laughing, “that’s the one of the pansy-looking rich kid Gainsborough painted wearing the blue duds.”
Erik backed off and sulked away, calling his men together for a strategy session regarding the free speech zone fanfare that was about to start.
Fred then pointed out. “Look, the man himself, coming out of the social sciences building. It’s Professor Dietrich.”
“That’s Dietrich?” I reacted with incredulity. “The guy looks like a clown. Fred, you really need to get with him and teach him how to dress; obviously he never had a mother to do it.”
Dietrich was about five six or five seven, probably in his late forties to early fifties, severely balding with quite a beer paunch on him. He had a few residual strands of gray hair on top. The hair on the sides was pulled back into a small pigtail.
“That’s him,” Fred answered, “Birkenstocks and all.”
“Geez, Fred, you’re right. I missed the Birkenstock sandals; and when was the last time he pressed his khakis?”
“They’re always that way. Probably takes them out of the dryer damp and wrinkled, and just puts them on. It’s his ’60s style tie-dyed T-shirt which clashes with the faded sport jacket he out-grew twenty years ago that denies him ‘Cover Girl’ status.”
“‘Cover Girl’,” I repeated Fred’s derogatory satire, as I wiped tears of laughter from my eyes. “Oh my, God, is that lipstick he’s wearing?” I was really about to lose it.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
THE WORLD ECOLOGY FLAG
“Yes, Dietrich was one of the many Washington bureaucrats to come out of the closet when the Obama Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage several years ago.”
“He’s married to some guy? Is Dietrich the male or the female?” I asked Fred in amazement.
“He and his partner, spouse, or whatever, divorced a few years back.” Fred replied.
“Who got custody of the children?” I looked at Fred with forged sarcastic curiosity, unable to keep a straight face, as I was still wiping the tears coming down my cheeks.
“Doc, you better see what’s happening.” Fred’s demeanor turned serious.
The people were exiting the buses, and Erik and his troops were escorting them to the area about the flagpole in front of the twin tripod speakers. They timed it for the end of the morning class sessions and the beginning of the lunch hour breaks. Students and faculty began to mix in with the crowd of paid interlopers.
Most of my students had apparently hung around after Fred had finished speaking with them. They were curious as to what was going on. Again missing were Tom, Ali, and Jude. Claudia and Maggie were also absent.
The boys were all the way at the back, away from the crowd. They were a short distance, perhaps thirty feet from the statue of Mary, aligned like the Rockettes, in a straight formation. Maria, the only woman now, stood on one side of the statue.
The crowd was ready and prepped. Kathy Owens was close to the front near the edge of the wall surrounding the flagpole. She gave a small hand signal to Dietrich and a nod to her cameramen. Fred and I moved a little closer to make sure we could hear her. One of the cameramen was up front with Kathy to capture Dietrich talking. The other was a short distance away scanning the crowd to capture their reaction as Dietrich spoke.
Dietrich advanced forward on Kathy’s signal and attempted to mount the small two-foot wall and almost tripped. Luckily the camera was focused on Kathy at that moment.
“This is Kathy Owens, coming to you live on a beautiful fall day from the lovely campus of Immaculate Conception College in Front Royal. We are at their free-speech zone, centrally located by their massive flagpole.”
Father Ed had shown up and was standing at the statue of Mary opposite Maria. He saw me and nodded.
Kathy continued, “We have a great turnout today of students and faculty to hear words of wisdom from one of the intellectual powerhouses in the academic community: Professor Marvin Dietrich.” Her assistant handed a cordless microphone to Dietrich.
“Thank you, Kathy, and thank you all for being so kind as to turn out today. I have some information of importance to bestow on you,” he an
nounced, giving the crowd a big plastic smile and a wave of his hand.
I turned to Fred, “Humble, he ain’t.”
“And pretentious, he is,” Fred shot back.
Meanwhile Kathy’s assistant actually held up an applause sign for the rent-a-crowd people to clap. The cameraman adjusted for a tight close-up of a few of the hired help clapping.
Some of the real students and faculty looked at each other with mouths agape. “Is this some perverted afternoon game show?” I asked Fred with a scowl on my face.
“The first order of business … I … a … things I would like to talk to you about, is our wonderful World Ecology Flag. We are uniting our world together in the spirit of the Age of Enlightenment: Liberté, égalité, and fraternité.”
“He sure knows how to butcher the French language,” Fred commented. Dietrich’s pronunciation was atrocious.
“We will still fly our American flag, as it is important to the people of the United States. But as we have become a One World … ah … um … unified world, we must give precedence to the whole, as we are just one of its parts.”
Dietrich continued, “We must not appear imperialistic or nationalistic with expansionist designs any longer. We must lead the way in the unity of all nations - none greater or lesser than another.”
The applause sign went up, accompanied by loud hooting, clapping, and the blaring of air horns from the rent-a-mob. Some of our own students were clapping. Oh boy, there is Jude in the center of the crowd, rooting and cheering along with them.
With his last statement, Dietrich looked over toward Erik, who sent two of his Blueshirt lackeys up on the wall. They tromped up to the flagpole, trampling all the flowers as they went. They unwrapped the halyard line from its cleat hitch and lowered the flags.
Kathy Owens, looking into her camera, addressed her TV audience. “This is a milestone nonpareil, as flags all around the country today are positioned in their proper order. It was decided for Virginia to document this historic occasion at a local college. The students are our future, and they bear witness to this landmark event,” she announced as she gave a cheesy toothy smile to the camera.